Ciel Phantomhive's Nightmares
by Mariposa211
Summary: This is a scene I did of nightmares that Ciel Phantomhive might dream about. . It may not be as good as it could, as I hadn't seen the anime in months at the time, but I did the best that I could. Warning, if you do not like violence, sad themes, and blood/gore then you might not want to read this as it contains a lot of that.


That night, his nightmares came back full-force, as if for revenge, and it wouldn't be so horrible if he wasn't dreaming of his past very vividly, seemingly reliving the events one by one.

His eyes flickered beneath closed lids as he was drawn into the first one.

He dreamt that the large Victorian manor that he was in now, was engulfed in roaring flames that poured out of every window in orange and red columns. He was a small child again, no more than six, and small in size, also, with a frail look. He ran through the hallway of the upstairs of the manor, desperate to reach his parents for they would protect him from this, the dark grey smoke that was all around him that bothered his asthma and made his small body wrack with coughs that made his eyes water and his throat sting painfully.

He made it to the sitting room and his large, clear, sapphire blue eyes widened in fear and horror as he stood there in the middle of the doorway, frozen, seeing the flames edge closer and closer to both of his parents.

It was then, as he stood there, horrorstruck, that he registered the intense heat that was all around him, singing his light navy-blue hair and clothes with scorching fingers. He started to tremble and called out for his parents to move, to save him, but his mother remained sitting in her chair and his father remained motionless by her side with his hand resting on the top of the chair.

They seemed to not hear his cries as the flames and became so thick that they blocked the view of his parents, just as their bloodcurdling screams met his ears, sending chills down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

His large doe eyes widened even more as his parents screams echoed around him, the flames seeming to not go near him anymore though they would and did in his real memory. He fell to his knees, still hearing the screams as tears poured down his cheeks and he felt something inside of him rip and tear as he held his face in his cupped hands. "W-why?" he sobbed out, "W-why is t-this happen-ning to m-me? I j-just lost m-my family." His hearted started to harden then, and to anyone else, they would see that he was slowly losing his innocence.

Suddenly, the flames seem to drain away as the dream-memory changes and he lifts his face from his trembling hands to find himself in a small, rectangular iron cage with iron bars around him and other children of various ages in cages like his around him. The cage was small, with just enough room for him to lean back slightly with his legs out slightly in front of him.

He leaned back now, his legs out the tiny bit that they were allowed as his back rested against the bars as his head was bent uncomfortably from the small height of the cage and thought about how much his appearance had changed since the time of the manor fire.

His once lustrous light navy-blue hair had dimmed in luster and matted in tangles, darkening to a dark navy-blue from dirt and lack of care. His sapphire eyes which had once held some sign of innocence and glowed brightly, held only the faintest sign of that innocence but otherwise had darkened and hardened to a stone cold look, showing nothing of the mixed feelings that he felt churning inside of him. His originally frail frame had become even thinner due to the little or no food that his captors gave him. Even now, his stomach growled painfully and hungrily, reminding him that he hadn't been given any food for about three day. His arms, thin and bony, were laced with scars from the blades of many sharp knives that many of his captors had drawn across his arms to draw blood needed for many dark rituals the occult used to try and summon a demon. His rich clothes that had once been worn to show his proud class as a noble, had faded in color and torn in many various spots, becoming what a lowly beggar would wear.

His emotions were raging inside of him in a mixed mess as he sat there now and they got even stronger as he thought about all he had been forced to do and all that had happened to him ever since he'd been held captive.

In truth, he hated his captors, the occult, for doing all this to him. His pride and honor from being a noble had been forcefully ripped from him as he was repeatedly forced to do dishonorable things and was treated as no more than a slave. As he sat there and listened to the quiet whimpers and soft crying of various children that were all in cages like his, the anger that had been silently and unnoticeably running through his veins like blood began to make itself known to the boy and he clenched his hands into tight fists, the rough edges of his nails digging into his palms leaving small crescent moons etched into them.

His attention was drawn from his anger as the soft swishing of a robe met his ears and he looked up and out of the metal bars of his cage to see a figure, most likely a member of the occult, dressed in a pure black robe that had symbols and signs drawn or threaded into it, slowly walking toward him, the robe hiding all of the figures features, including her face which was drawn into shadow by the large hood.

The boy's royal blue gaze widened in the slightest bit, showing his fear as he started to tremble slightly in terror and shrank back, the dim light of the room making the figure seem like an angel of death.

As the figure came closer, he could make out that it was a female by the faint shadow of her facial features that showed beneath her hood. Her lips curved up into a smile that made a chill go down his spine as she stopped right outside of his cage.

"Ciel Phantomhive." Her voice was smooth, reserved, and impassive as she voiced his name. "You're nothing more than a boy. Nothing more than what used to be a noble's son that was found wandering the streets of England; a perfect young boy for us to use as we need. Can't you smile? What we're doing to you is for a good cause."

He frowns and looks away from the woman, his gaze landing on the floor, "Smile?" His voice is dead, but still manages to sound as if he's scoffing, "I can't smile…not while I'm trapped here…"

Her gaze, though he can't see it, hardens and she grits her teeth as she reaches out with one slender arm and unlocks the cage with an iron key, slipping the key back into a hidden pocket before reaching up and grasping one of the bars of the small metal cage with slender fingers, swinging the door open. "You'll smile sometime. But for saying that, what we're going to do to you is going to be that much more painful." He cowers and cringes back from her hand as she reaches inside his iron cage and roughly grabs his arm, her grip tight enough to leave bruises on his small arm. He winces and climbs out of the cage as she pulls his arm forward roughly.

Once on the ground outside of his cell, he has no time to notice the other children cowering back or crying, though, even if he did, he did not have it in him to feel any pity except for a small bit for himself. He did gaze around in fear as the woman began leading him out of the large room and to another one just as big, maybe bigger that was filled with candlelight from candles placed all around the room in obscure places. He cowered back as he was brought over to what he assumed was a group of men with one that was holding something metal in a pile of coals that were surrounded by red-orange tongues of fire that made the air around it waver and quiver as if eager to heat up the rod to a scarlet glow.

He winces as a man grabs his arms and pins them behind his back, his arms bent harshly at the elbows as he holds his wrists together in a tight grip. He stumbles forward, off-balance; as another man wearing the same robe as the other men steps forward and harshly rips his tattered shirt off, causing him to involuntarily shiver as the cold air hits his now fully exposed skin.

As he stumbles, a sharp pain erupts from his shoulders as he is jerked back, and though the thought of trying to run away crosses his mind, it quickly flees as he knows that he can't escape, especially now, with so many people near him and surrounding him, though they left a gap big enough for him to have a clear view of the alter and dried blood stained on it.

The men seem to smirk as the one with the iron rod buried deep in the coals twirls it around a little before drawing it out, the branding symbol that is on the end glowing from its own heat. His eyes widen in fear as the man walks over to him, brandishing the brand before him. He clings to his remembered family name as he clenches his fists behind his back, feeling what pride that wasn't ripped from him start to bubble and fuel his anger.

He then saw another small boy, no older than five or six being brought out and forced to lay across the alter naked, with only a small blanket to cover his groin. The boy was shaking, most likely from fear and he watched as the robed figure muttered some incantations before bringing out a knife that was stained with blood and holding it high above the boy's chest as his eyes widened in fear at his fast approaching death.

The figure then brought the knife down, plunging it into the boy's chest as he screamed in incomprehensible pain and agony, blood welling from the wound and pouring over his sides, polling around the alter in a thick, scarlet puddle of death.

He then felt a searing pain on his side, a little bit below his left shoulder blade as the burning iron was pressed into his skin, marking it forever. His eyes watered then tears ran down his cheeks as a terrifying and pain filled scream erupted from his lips, mingling with the other screams of the boy that lie dying on the alter.

The pain seems never-ending, as if the fire of the manor is again around him, except this time it's actually on him and burning him forever. It also stings and pricks, as if a thousand needs are jabbing into him painfully in that small space. He bites his lip, silencing his screams as his own silent screams still erupt from him in angered agony as he felt the last of his innocence leaving him for good. _'Father, Mother, God, please…Why is there no one? No one comes to our rescue…'_ He screamed silently. Surely if there was a god, then he wouldn't let this hell exist, let alone let him be trapped inside of it! He would surely come to help, not just stay where he was, watching?! _IF _there was a god. God didn't exist, he couldn't if this was happening.

The nightmare then changed again, the fiery pain subsiding as he opened his eyes and saw his aunt, Madame Red, a lady of about forty years with a red hat over her red hair. She wore a pure red dress that was tight and long sleeved until it got to her waist where it poofed outward with various fringes placed around it. Her eyes were wide-open with a crazed look as she looked at him in hatred and held a knife high above him in her hand.

He merely looked at her coldly and shrugged, not afraid of dying and also knowing that his butler wouldn't allow it so long as he was alive. His voice came out cold and harsh also as he continued to watch her, "I am not afraid. Go ahead. Kill me. But know this: If you are crying, fight against it! If you're regretting, walk forward! Only complaining of your misfortune, you're nothing more than a common pig!"

She gasped and, if possible, her eyes widened even more as they cleared and instead filled with fear as she took a faltering step back and whispered, "I-I can't…I can't kill you! Nephew…Please…forgive me!" She took another faltering step back just as he heard the roar of a chainsaw sounded just before its biting blades ripped her middle, spraying blood everywhere and on him, with the sound of ripping flesh. She gagged and spat out more of her crimson blood as the assailant ripped the chainsaw from her middle, blood dripping from it as he ran away, his butler chasing after him.

Ciel sighed as he watched the light drain from the last of his family's gaze as her body dropped to the ground. He slowly walked over to her and took his coat off, placing it over her body as he said, "Aunt, you should have known. There are some things you can never get back, no matter how much effort you put in. And there are some feelings of despair, that you can never ever shake off."

The dream then changed yet again to her funeral and he found himself standing in the aisle holding a red dress. He then slowly walked down the church aisle, the dress softly rustling behind him.

A small, unusual smile shadowed across his lips as he got to his aunt and reached up, sliding the red dress over her, saying softly, "Black doesn't suit you. Red looks much better." He took one last look at Madame Red before turning away and walking back down the aisle, his expression as cold and harsh as always.

He didn't stop as his words echoed around him hauntingly, "Pain tends to heal as time passes, but personally, I don't want time to heal my wounds. You may think you've escaped pain and forgotten it, but that's nothing more than stagnation. You can't move forward without the pain." He sighed as another one of sayings came to him, "Unfortunately, in reality, there is no situation where one can win merely by following the rules. There will be knights that break the rule, and even chess pieces that betray the king." He then groaned as one last saying came to haunt him, "Humans cannot reject temptation. When they are plunged into the depths of despair, likened to hell, they will hold onto anything that may help them from the situation they are in, even if it's merely a spider's thread, no matter what sort of humans they are." This is what his butler had said to him once, and he knew it was trued for that was what he had done.

As he got to the front door of the church, he pulled them open to enter the last part of his nightmare, though he didn't know that.

Without him noticing, the dream had swiftly changed so that he now stood in the open doorway of his bedchamber wearing a large, oversized white dress shirt as his bedclothes that he had woken up in.

This was unusual that he had woken up by himself because his butler and loyal servant always woke him up early every morning. But now the sun was shining through the closed curtains and through the unusual silence, he could hear the songs of many birds.

He quickly took in the other four servants shocked and grief-stricken faces as they all stared at the same spot on the floor, their expressions almost horror-struck as well.

Slowly, he carefully and slowly walked forward, his bare feet whispering across the wooden floor as he tried to brace himself to see what had made his servants so scared and sad. But never could he have braced himself enough for the sight that met his eyes. "Se…bas…ti…an…" He whispered as he saw the tall white male that was always dressed in natural butler's attire with addition of a black tailcoat. A stoker that was used to pole the fire in the sitting room was jutting straight out of his chest and pinned him to the floor as dark, dried, red-brown blood surrounded the chest wound and stained his white dress shirt and vest and also the floor where it was puddle, surrounding his body where it spread out a few feet all around him in sticky wetness.

His shocked whisper broke the servants out of their trance and as they all turned to look at him, they tried to hide their sorrow from him, though he could still see it in their eyes. "Young master…" The maid, Mey-Rin, a woman of about twenty-five years wearing a pink hat over her brown hair and a pink maids dress and large glasses that hid her eyes from view said in a soft, high pitched voice.

He simply shook his head and ran forward, not able to believe what he is seeing. _'Sebastian, his demon butler that he thought could never leave him, had died? No, he couldn't leave him, it was against the terms of the contract he had made with the demon. He had made his requests of the contract to make sure that Sebastian would always protect him and never betray him, that he would always obey his orders, and that he would never lie to him. Yet how could he protect him if he was dead?' _These desperate thoughts ran through his mind as he ran forward, desperate to reach his butler, who was, though he hated to admit that he was this weak, was the last one that he cared about.

"Young master!" Mey-Rin cried as she stepped into his way, reaching up and grasping his shoulders with both hands to stop him.

Her gaze had turned pitiful, as had all of his servants, and this only angered him as he roughly jerked his shoulders, effectively shaking her hands off as he set his angered gaze upon her, "Let go of me!"

He stepped towards Sebastian again and again Mey-Rin grabbed him, saying, "Young master…don't go near him."

This time, he set the full force of his desperateness and anger on her as he threw her hands off of him, "You don't order your master!" And now, he ran to his black clad butler, no one stopped him, even as he stepped through the blood to the body. "Sebastian, get up. It can't be comfortable to sleep on the floor." He said softly as he stood over the male, and when he saw that this did nothing, he ordered louder and with more authority in his voice, "This is an order: Get up!" This again did nothing and as he felt his heart break, he grabbed the stoke and harshly ripped it from his butler's body as he angrily cried, "I'm a human being, Sebastian! It's in bad taste to play games that make me feel like throwing up, Demon!"

He then fell onto him and started slapping him, wanting him to wake up so badly as he muttered, "I was born to end up alone…"

Bardroy, the chef, a gruff looking man with blonde hair watched sadly, saying, "It's no use, young master. He's…dead."

He caught himself and sighed, composing himself and his features as he stood up, "You're right. I'm sorry. Seeing Sebastian's corpse so many times…is just too much for me…"

During this entire time, he did not once feel the sharp sting of tears threatening to spill over or pooling beneath his lids. His eyes did not water in the slightest and remained completely dry. Had his pride kept his eyes from getting wet? Was he so used to depending on that feeling that it now controlled what he showed of his raging emotions?

Gasping, his eyes flew open to complete darkness as he woke and sat up, his body coated with a sheen of sweat that made the overly large white shirt he wore cling to his skin. He looked down at the bed as he muttered, "It was just nightmares…"

**FIN**


End file.
